Chapter 1

The world was fire and chaos.

I crawled along my belly as the other men walked along standing up. Feet pounded into my back, pushing my further and further into the mud.

"How could you be so weak?" they called out, before seconds later being taken down by machine gun fire. That made me feel smart. A coward, but smart.

I found a ditch a few feet in front of me and cowered, checking my pockets and pouches, worthlessly trying to wring the water and cold out of my clothes.

As more men berated me as they passed, I took the rifle that had been strapped to my back into my hands, pretending to fiddle with the bolt and mindlessly pressing the trigger. I was stalling for time. The eight weeks of basic training had drilled into me the motions of my rifle, so much that I didn't need any prompting. It was just something I could do naturally now; fire, bolt, reload, bolt, fire, bolt.

I was all finger and thumbs, I tried loading the cartridges into my rifle but they fell to the ground, amongst the spent shells and corpses of countrymen. I instead fastidiously cleaned the weapon of grass and soil, but stopped on the last push of the bolt. I heard a piercing howl, cutting through the swirling wind, the chatter of the machine gun, and the rhythmic pound of the shells. I stuck my head out of the ditch, enraptured by what could have made that sound.

It was deep, too loud and low to be a simple hound, and my eyes agreed with me, but did not agree with my brain. It was not possible.

It certainly looked like a hound, yet stretched to human proportions. More in fact, it towered over my comrades by a good three or four feet. Its front paws were the size of dustbin lids, each claw a steak knife from the kitchen draw. Its fur was as black as night, accentuating its golden eyes, filled with malice. The darkness of its fur was only matched by the whiteness of its teeth, bared for all to see.

Men were shouting and readying their rifles, all aimed square at the beast's chest. I instinctively ducked again at the sound of a nearby volley of gunfire, unaware from which direction it came from. But I had to look again, to convince myself that it was a trick of the mind.

I poked my head out again, and an audible gasp came from my mouth. The beast was sprinting between the men I fought along, rending and tearing with all its might. Claws slashed and teeth snapped, its growls only matched by the screams of my fellow soldiers. It seemed to have no other motive that pure destruction. As it felled its last opponent, it stretched to its full height again and tipped its head to the skies.

I could not tell if it was from the shells or the howl, but I swear to the Lord that the ground shook that day. The beast let out a few more calls, and I was shaken to hear responses. I could not see any more creatures, but I could hear them, all across the battlefield. Hundreds, even thousands, coming from the German trenches, rushing our positions.

And then its eyes were on me. I tried to duck back down into the ditch, to pretend I was one amongst the dead, but the creature locked onto my soul, not deviating until it had rid me of the world too. As I heard its paws heavy upon the earth above me, I readied my Webley revolver. I may have been a coward, but I was not to go without a fight. As the creatures reached the ridge, I levelled my gun, but could not fire. Panic seared through me as the creature stepped down into the ditch and stalked toward me.

Every fibre of my being was screaming at me "FIRE!", but my body would not act. The creature was within touching distance, I could smell the stench from its breath and see the blood that coated its blindly white teeth. It was the Devil himself. God had abandoned us on the Western Front and had left us to his counterpart.

The creature reached forward and pulled me up by the lapels, before sinking its teeth into my neck. I did not scream, only my energy being sapped as the blood poured out. It was almost euphoric. Time seemed to slow as I ruminated on where I should die. I would not be a white feather. I must fight back.

It was then that I remembered the Webley. I tried to focus on it, but anytime I did then pain from my neck was unbearable. No, I must.

I raised my hand, pushing the cold metal against the beast's chest. It seemed not to notice, too busy feasting upon my rich blood, of noble ancestry from the south of England.

Closing my eyes, I focussed my attention once again to the gun on my hand, and pulled the trigger. Again. And again. And again. More. More. Not until all I could hear were the clicks of an empty gun. I opened my eyes.

No longer was the beast in front of me. Now it was a boy, no older than eighteen. The mirror of myself, but in the tatters of grey uniform indicating the German army. Her lay back against the incline of the ditch, his chest filled with bullet holes. In his hand was a bloody knife. My hand went to my neck. A deep slash went from the bottom of my jaw to my collar bone.

He coughed and blood began pouring from his mouth. He began whispering nonsense in German and for a second the shelling stopped and all I could hear was his voice. It seemed to flow through me, hearing and understanding every word he said.

"Welcome brother," he said. "The new world is upon us." Again and again he repeated those words, searing into my soul and mind.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" I screamed, flinging myself at him. My Webley was useless, but I could still use my hands. I grabbed the German's wrist and fought for his knife. Despite filling him with lead, the young squire still had plenty of life in him. As we wrestled, he managed to gain the upper hand and streaked the blade inches from my face. I felt heat drip down my cheek and guessed he had scratched my face with the tip of the knife.

As I lay on top of him, trying to keep him under control, I looked around. The only thing within reaching distance was a stone the size of my hand, dislodged due to the shelling. I snatched it up and began to pound it into the German's head. The shelling resumed and it acted as a metronome. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Again and again, l until the stone crumbled to dust between my fingers and the blood mixed into the soil.

I rolled off the German and looked to the darkening sky. It was only then I realised how tired I was. How much pain my body was in. I closed my eyes for a second time and let the shells carry me away. Boom! Boom! Boom!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

I jolted awake. Fuck, my head hurt. Too much whiskey the night before. I looked at the clock beside me. Ten-Thirty.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

So who the fuck was banging on my door at this time?